Hawk of the Month
by ProfessorHojotheGEN-I-US
Summary: The Hawks are bored and are challenged by Griffith to see who the best Hawk is among them. Who will become the Hawk of the Month?


A/N: My first ever Berserk story. I know it sounds weird based on the concept, but I thought Berserk could use a touch of humor every now and then. Regardless, I hope you enjoy it! It's set when the Band of the Hawk actually was the Band of the Hawk. Griffith's healthy, Guts hasn't left yet, it's all good.

- _Dedicated to Hawk of the Month. She's an amazingly awesome person and this story is totally for her._ _Heh, obviously._

Disclaimer: I don't own Berserk. That's Kentaro Miura's baby.

Rating: T for language and situations.

------

Hawk of the Month

------

They had always been a force to be reckoned with. With their diverse group of people, all who had talents beyond compare, it seemed as though the Band of the Hawk could never be defeated. They had faced countless enemies and defeated them all with ease. And every raid grew more tiresome as the Hawks found less enjoyment from going into battle and lobbing some poor fools head off. Sure it was the life they lead, but where was the excitement? Where were the self-proclaimed strong men who could crush borders with their bare hands? Where was the thrill of fighting over one thousand men where the odds seemed staggeringly against them? Where were the unearthly demons crawling from holes in the dirt to try and suck their souls from their bodies?

These excitements, along with the Hawks morale, had seemingly vanished.

Griffith looked up from his battle plans and sighed. What was the use in battle strategy if they didn't even need to be half awake to obliterate their enemies? Placing the papers orderly on his desk, Griffith stood up and stretched a little. Running a hand through his silvery tresses, he stepped out of his tent into the musky afternoon air and shielded his eyes from the sun. Gazing around lazily, he was met with a pitiful sight.

Judeau, who was usually so adamant about keeping his aim sharp, was throwing his knifes idly in every which way, striking a few unfortunate in the process. Stifling a yawn, he even whizzed one right past Griffith and into another tent.

Rickert was going blindly back and forth from the river fetching water. But noticing they had plenty, Griffith wondered if Rickert even realized what he was doing. Deciding to leave him be, on account of he had nothing else for him to do anyway, Griffith continued his once over of the camp.

Pippin looked to either be taking a nap or lying defeated on the ground. The occasional twitch of his restless fingers was the only sign Griffith had to know he was even alive at all. Corkus seemed to be the only one keeping himself occupied. He was currently waving his arms here and there, no doubt telling a story about an exaggerated victory of his. Sadly for him, the men he was talking to were either sleeping or on the brink of doing so.

"Surely Caska must be doing something worthwhile," Griffith sighed, looking for her. To his dismay, he found that she wasn't doing anything productive either. In fact, she was merely whacking her sword clumsily against a tree, while sitting, and humming some low tune that seemed to have no end. Oh, the humanity.

Knowing that Guts was always one to be doing something, _anything_, Griffith hurried nervously through the camp, hoping to God that someone was doing something. But when Griffith finally stumbled upon Guts, he was met with an even more pitiful sight.

Guts, who was drooling ever so slightly, was currently swinging his sword around wildly and lazily. Chopping trees down, bushes in half, and frightening small animals in the process, Guts sat pitifully with his armor half on and looked like he had been rolling around in the dirt for a good long while before he started his "sword practice".

For Griffith, this was just too much to take. He knew they were bored, he knew they needed excitement, but what could he do? Training's only exciting for so long. Or at least, how they always ended: Guts would perform the challenge with ease, Corkus would bitch that he cheated, Caska would smack both of them while saying that they'd both never be as good as Griffith anyway, Judeau would laugh and try to resolve the matter, Rickert would ask Pippin why it always ended up this way, and Pippin would merely shrug while jumping in to get his little piece of action.

Annoyed with himself for not being able to keep them accurately occupied, but equally annoyed with the Hawks for needing him to be the moderator of their everyday activities, Griffith huffed indignantly and screamed, frustrated, into the fading afternoon air.

Alerting Guts who was right in front of him, Guts immediately stopped swinging his sword and gasped, "Huh ... wha-? Enemies?!" However, when he realized there were no enemies around, he looked at Griffith like he had gone slightly insane and breathed, "You ok there, Griff?"

"No! No I'm not ok! You are the Band of the Hawk! What if someone came trotting around this corner and found you all in such a sad, sloppy state? Huh?! Would you be ready?! No! And do you know why?!" Griffith paused in his rant to look directly into Gut's eyes full of fear. "Well!" He emphasized with a hiss.

Guts could do nothing but shake his head slightly. At that time, however, the rest of the Hawks heard the commotion and came to see what Griffith was yelling at Guts about. "He's probably telling him he's a sucky fighter and needs to leave!" the excited voice of Corkus whispered.

"Because you're all laying around like a bunch of lazy idiots!" Griffith raged on, spinning around suddenly and frightening the group that had just made its way over. Their smiles and curious glances now painted with fear.

"We are the Band of the Hawk! Do you know how much we are feared throughout the land?! You're all perfectly capable adults! I should _not _have to baby you all night and day! I AM NOT YOUR MOTHER, DAMMIT!!!!" Griffith concluded with a high pitched shriek, losing his cool indefinitely.

Storming off, Griffith left behind a group of his best soldiers who could do nothing but stare in shock.

"I think I peed myself," a frightened Corkus squeaked, finally breaking the silence.

"What the Hell was that about?" Caska asked turning her attention to Guts. "What did you do?!"

"Hey," Guts said lifting his hands defensively, "I didn't do shit! He just came over here and started yelling at me."

"I've never seen him get so angry," Judeau commented idly to himself, looking after where Griffith had stormed off. "I wonder what was wrong?" He continued to think aloud, but the continuously loader bickering persuaded bring him back to reality.

"Stop fighting guys!" Rickert cried.

"Hey, they started it!" Guts exclaimed, thrusting his sword out in front of him for defensive sake.

"Everyone calm down," a voice cut calmly in the distance, "And come with me."

No one moved. Staring in shock, Guts whispered, "Uh ... Griff ... ith?"

"COME," Griffith repeated once more. That was all the confirmation they needed.

---

"Hawk of the Month?"

"Yes Caska," Griffith repeated, "Hawk of the Month."

The group of six had piled into the tent dutifully behind Griffith, not knowing what to think. The sun had begun setting, and the candle lit in the tent cast an eerie glow about the residents. Particularly Griffith, who looked too calm considering the events that had taken place not over an hour ago.

"You've been far too bored lately," Griffith continued, "And I know I am partially to blame. However, you're all not off the hook either." He cast a stern look to all inside, the Hawks merely bowing there is heads in shame and fear. "But I think I have a plan to keep you all occupied."

Heads raised and looked at Griffith skeptically. Catching their skepticism, Griffith spun around daintily, pointed one finger triumphantly, and proclaimed, "Gladiator death match!"

The only one smiling was Guts.

"I joke, of course," Griffith hummed, waving off the terrified faces, "No, actually, I've decided to run a little contest between the six of you. To get you all motivated, I've decided that one of you, and only one, can be Hawk of the Month."

"So ... does that mean we could get ... promoted?" Corkus asked hopefully, eyeing Guts.

"Not exactly, Corky," Griffith said smiling, "Actually, the winner will get a nice plaque or something. I still have to think it through a bit."

Looking slightly not impressed, the six Hawks didn't see any perks in claiming this oh-so-coveted title.

"And you can, I don't know, throw someone off a building or something," Griffith said with a flick of his wrist. Now this was an attention getter.

"Really? Anyone we want?"

"Can it be Corkus?!"

"Can it be Guts?!"

"If we're big enough, can we push more than one?!"

Not shocked in the slightest, Griffith wondered why he didn't just offer carnage in the first place. But moreover, he wondered why they wanted to push _each other _off a building. Hmm, wonders will never cease.

Calming the riot with his a wave of his hands, Griffith cleared his throat and proclaimed, "No, you can only push one, but yes, you may push a fellow Hawk."

"Even you?!" An excited voice called out. And all eyes fell on Rickert.

"Why no, Rickert, you may not," Griffith answered, shocked to say the least.

"Well, I didn't mean it that way! I mean ... I would NEVER want to do that!" Rickert claimed trying to cover up his travesty.

"That's ten points from Rickert," Griffith said, revealing a note pad and pen.

"There's a point system?" Guts asked, "Can't we just see who can kill 100 men first?"

Gripes and moans emitted from group as Griffith laughed on. "No, you've already done that, anyway."

"Exactly," Guts pouted, crossing his arms.

"Well, I just want to be the best Hawk I can be and only hope to win," Pippin remarked calmly from the back of the group.

And while the Hawks looked at him like he was the biggest ass kisser in the world, Griffith smiled happily and praised, "That was beautiful, Pippy! Ten points for you!"

Shocked, the group looked from Griffith to Pippin and back to Griffith. "Good night everyone," Griffith said rushing the people from his tent, "See you in the morning."

Staring, Pippin was the first to say, "Well, I'm off to bed so I can work hard and diligently in the morning."

And then the rest of the Hawks became motivated.

"No way! I'm gonna go to sleep right now!"

"Yeah, well, I'm sleeping right here!"

"Not if I sleep here first!"

"Well, I'm gonna sleep better!"

"No way, I'm already asleep!"

"I've been asleep since the day I was born!"

Smiling slightly evilly to himself, Griffith blew his own candle out and went to sleep.

---

He hoped that the challenge would at least get his Hawks motivated, but when he awoke that next morning, Griffith came to bear witness to the hardest working group of people he'd ever seen. And he was all but ecstatic, but the constant ear to ear smiles he received and the incessant, "Good morning, Griffith? I hope you are well! Can I get you something?!" started to wear on him. He was glad that they were taking the challenge so seriously and tried to look on the bright side of things: At least they were keeping themselves occupied.

Deciding that they didn't want to let even one contender get the upper hand, the six Hawks half-slept half-plotted on their bed of dirt. And when one got up, they all did. When it seemed like one Hawk had an advantage over the other, someone took to doing something that they deemed of greater interest to Griffith, and ultimately winning, and so on and so forth.

Caska was busy training those under her command. But one wouldn't call it training. It was more like Hell. From earlier than the sun was even thinking about rising, Caska lead her troops down to a freezing river where she made them all jump in with nothing but their armor on. That led to 60 laps from one end of the river to the other. Whoever couldn't make was left to "their cold, watery graves of disappointment, ridicule, and shame." All who survived were forced to fetch only the freshest ingredients for Griffith's breakfast and were then lined up outside his tent in a very slave-esque manner as such as he was required to step on them to get to his breakfast. And, everyday, Griffith approached Caska with her bowed low only to be greeted by a tired smile as she handed him his food saying, "I hope this is to your liking, Griffith!"

She continued her days in much of the same way, training her men until it was so dark they couldn't see ten feet in front of them.

Judeau would crack jokes with Griffith and damn near talk his ear off. Massaging his feet, baking him meals, teaching him life lessons … Judeau about did it all. He even tried to give Griffith some helpful strategy hints, but it ended in a rather horrific 100 point deduction. Sadly, things were not looking up for Judeau.

Fortunately for him, he happened to be telling Griffith a rather wild story. Forgetting he was holding one of his small daggers, Judeau chucked it excitedly, stabbing another man in the crotch. Well, when that man doubled over in pain, Griffith thought it was the damn near funniest thing he'd ever seen and rewarded Judeau with 110 points. But when they both found out later that the man was peeing blood, Griffith awarded Judeau another 30 points and cackled madly into his tent.

Rickert mainly kept to his regular chores. Fetching water, cleaning something, sharpening something. Rickert had always thought himself rather awesome at life and living in general, so he figured gathering points should be no problem. Of course, to help him along, he employed a little bit of strategical tact.

Breaking things people had fixed, spilling dirt on clean laundry, and leaving food in the sleeping quarters of his other Hawk competitors only insured Rickert his victory.

And then there was the Corkus incident. Rickert had spilled a large bucket of oil on the suits of armor Corkus was taking his sweet time in cleaning. Giggling giddily to himself as he went about his business, the whole camp was met with the horrifying screams of Corkus spinning wildly down a hill. Apparently, some of the oil leaked and caused Corkus to trip. And when he tripped, there just happened to be a hill, and just under that hill, like one big coincidence, was a pit of fire.

When the rest of the Hawks reached the hillside, they were just in time to see Corkus on fire running crazily in circles.

"Stop, drop, and die, Douche-bag!" Guts called from behind Griffith, straining to get a better look.

"I believe it's stop, drop, and _roll_, Guts," Pippin said with a knowing nod of his head.

"Um, ten points to Corkus for being such a … trooper," Griffith sighed turning from the scene.

Fortunately for Corkus, there was a river nearby and he dashed into it with enough time to at least save his eyebrows. Rickert, meanwhile, cursed himself colorfully as he smashed his head against a tree hoping that Corkus was dead and wishing he hadn't given him those ten extra points.

Rickert knew who _he_ was pushing off if he won.

Corkus had been occupying his time doing things he would normally gripe about. Sure, he didn't want to do it, but he really, _really_ wanted to push Guts of the biggest, most jaggedly steep building he could find. Oh, and he really hoped he'd beg him not to and stuff, but he mainly just wanted to push him without getting reprimanded. He even took time out of his day to praise Griffith twice as much. Whatta guy.

Pippin spent his time trying to speak words of wisdom and humbleness to anyone near Griffith. In the beginning, Griffith had to admit it was cute. But his continuous use of, "Stop seeing the glass half empty, young Hawkling," were starting to become dull and trite. The smirk and sad shake of his head toward the Hawk he had just "inspired" was always aimed at Griffith. And, of course, Griffith smiled slightly and tried to give Pippin a reasonable amount of points.

"I think I liked him better when he was mute," Griffith whispered, turning to go exceedingly far in the opposite direction.

Guts, it seemed, was working the hardest. He'd wake up every day and fling the breakfast Caska (and her men) had for Griffith out of her hands and stomp on it saying, "That food's not even fit for ME!" And he'd turn briskly, present Griffith with his breakfast of steamed lobster, and promptly turn around to give Caska the "Berserker Bitch Slap," as Guts so lovingly called it.

He'd then proceed to throw Judeau into a hole he'd dug the night before so Griffith could get some peace and quiet, tell Pippin, "You know, the glass may be half full, but it's still half empty," and have him tangle with that one for a while, do all of Rickert's chores beforehand so it looked like the young Hawk was being a lazy punk, hide Caska's clothes to prevent her from doing anything until she found a make-shift pair, and throw Corkus in the Judeau pit so he work out his issues as well.

And Guts did other things besides humiliating the other Hawks as well. He brushed Griffith's horse, took all the Hawks on refreshing "jogs" through the woods, polished Griffith's shoes and armor, read (a very disturbed Griffith) a nighttime story, and tons of other unimportant tasks.

Frightened by what he had created, Griffith looked out from his tent early one morning and thanked the Gods that the month was nearly at a close.

---

"So?"

"So what, Corkus?" Judeau asked with no enthusiasm.

"So? Who do think is gonna win?"

For some reason, the Hawks involved in the competition gathered together one foggy night. They hadn't planned it; they were just too suspicious to let even one of them out of their sight. And when they were far enough away from camp where no one would hear them, they began conversing.

"Well?" Corkus continued to pester.

"Isn't it obvious," Guts smirked, pointing happily to himself.

"It isn't you," Caska said pointing an angry finger at him.

"And why the Hell wouldn't it be me?" Guts questioned, "I'm his best soldier, he gives me all the perks anyway. Hell, he loves me. I won before this even started."

No one could really argue with that. It was true that Griffith did have a certain tender spot for Guts.

"Damn! Well, I'm not going to stand for this!"

"Oh yeah? And whatcha gonna do, Corky?" Guts said in a mocking tone.

"Like I'd tell you, anyway," Corkus remarked, pouting.

"I've got it!" Caska professed suddenly, "I'll admit my undying love for him, and then we'll have hot, wild sex! I'm sure to be the winner!"

"Not unless I declare my undying love for him first!"

All eyes turned to Guts, shocked. But Guts, however, looked totally and completely serious. And then, in a dash, he started making his way back to camp. All the other Hawks quickly followed suit.

"I don't care who wins," Corkus said rushing against the night, "But I will NOT let it be _him_!"

"Here-here!" Rickert agreed giving a whopping war cry.

All Hawks agreed to not let Guts win and rushed madly to try and present Caska before Guts got to camp.

"Hopefully he found a nice mud hole to bath in," Corkus gasped, trying to catch his breath.

---

Ripping all but her bra and underwear off, Caska was flung into Griffith's tent by the three men and one small child. Landing ungracefully, she looked up hurriedly and was greeted with a horrid sight.

Guts had, unfortunately, made it before the rest of the Hawks and was currently sporting a speedo he got from only God knows where with the name Griffith written across it in diamonds. And, in his arms, he held a very confused Griffith.

"You're too late, temptress," Guts grinned holding Griffith closer to his seemingly oiled chest, "I've already seduced him!"

"Uh … wha-?" was the only thing Griffith could utter.

"I did not need to see this," Judeau said, shielding his eyes.

Caska wasn't one to give up, however, and she tackled Griffith right out of Guts's grip. This prompted a wrestling match and allowed a slightly worn Griffith to go free. Not feeling words were appropriate, he scribbled something on a piece of paper, handed it to Pippin, and left, wearily, for his tent.

---

When the wrestling match drew to a close, everyone gathered around Pippin to read the mysterious Griffith note. It read:

_Dear Crazed Hawklings,_

_Meet tomorrow afternoon at the highest point at Midland castle. There, I will announce the Hawk of the Month. Good job, everyone._

_- Griffith_

"It's so me," Guts laughed after reading the note.

"Dream on, Mr. Speedo."

---

When the afternoon approached, the six Hawks made their way to Midland's castle. No one talked, but merely spat at each other and gave dirty glares. Each one plotting and planning to throw their person off a building and watch them suffer.

When they had made it to where Griffith was standing, the sun was starting to set. It colored the sky an evil blood red. Turing sharply, Griffith armor twinkled slightly with the fading sun.

"Everyone, walk to the edge and look at the vast greatness of this fall."

Everyone did as they were told and were in awe at the actually distance.

"Wow. That looks like it could actually hurt," Guts remarked, looking down.

"Oh, indeed," Griffith hissed, "Some could even die from a fall like this. But I guess you'll all find out," he finished with a smirk.

Frigid, the six now extremely nervous Hawks turned around, scared for what they were about to hear.

Sadly, none of them had time to scream for Griffith had pushed them all so suddenly. "I am the Hawk of the Month!" Griffith exclaimed, "Better luck next month!" Griffith's voiced faded into a singsong whisper as the Hawks fell farther and farther away from him.

Silence. And then:

"I'm gonna fall the best! I'm sure to win Hawk of the Month next time!"

"No way! I fall way better!"

"Nu-uh! I'm closer to the ground than all of you!"

"Yeah, well, I fall slower!"

"But I fall faster!"

"I've been falling since the day I was born!"

------

The End

------

A/N: So, what'd ya think? Stupid? Pointless? Hilarious? All three and more?! Whatever you thought, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it immensely! Reviews are greatly appreciated!


End file.
